On the Shores of Valinor
by An Absent Author
Summary: By Maybe. In the land of Valinor, Elrond meets someone believed long lost to him. Nominated for the 2003 My Precious Awards, and a finalist in the 2004 Mithril Awards.
1. Prologue

**On the Shores of Valinor by Maybe****

* * *

**

**Summary: In the land of Valinor, Elrond meets someone believed long lost to him. Nominated for the 2003 My Precious Awards, and a finalist in the 2004 Mithril Awards.  
**

**Disclaimer: The characters and world are the creation of Tolkien and belong to him. New Line Cinema also has rights to them, which I cannot claim. No copyright infringement or offence intended by the use of them. No profit made.**

**Authors Notes: This is set after Return of the King, when Elrond and other elves of Middle-earth have departed for the West and the Undying Lands.**

**Publishers Notes: This story has been reposted under the collection 'An Absent Author' by the requests of readers, as this story has become available only by limited sources, and has been published to be read online here with permission of the author.**

**

* * *

**

_"The further you run, the more you recall,_

_The loss of your innocence, after the fall."_

(October Project - After the Fall)

* * *

**Prologue

* * *

**

He signed his name without his title, and sat looking at the curling script upon the page. Over familiarity with his own hand made strange the individual crafting of the letters. It had been so long since he, amidst official paperwork, had held no status to claim it. By his father's rank alone which had grown great in the crescendo that brought the First Age to an end he had been recognised, and partially for running wild with Feanor's sons, though that choice had not been his own. Deserted by them, he had made the choice to walk into eternity and the court of the High King as merely Elrond. But therein, with Gil-galad's guidance, he had ascended, his talents as a scholar quickly raising him to loremaster, then healer – by Gil-galad's deflection – and finally the herald of the high king. Before the fiery close of another Age he had built the house in which he now sat, and become Master of Imladris, Lindon's second stronghold. Over four thousand years he had held that place and now, at the closing of the Third Age, it was relinquished. This final letter signed and sealed upon a more personal note the coming of his sons into their inheritance: lords Elladan and Elrohir now the Masters of Imladris. Tomorrow, he would ride out of his valley for the final time.

He knew he need not go, that he could remain in the dwindling sanctuary of his creation. But to do that was to make a choice: to become, if not mortal, then nearly so; in time those who remained here would fade, as the world turned over to the Second Born. There was curious comfort, he discovered, to impress the seal of Imladris into the hot wax and close the letter. He was perhaps the only elf to have ever made that choice before, when his path parted from his twin at the beginning of the Second Age. Peredhel in name and nature, Elrond's ancestry mixed the blood of mortals and that of elf kind in equal measure, as such, and as it had been to his parents, his choice at majority had been simple: to adjoin himself to one race and with it take death or eternity. Elrond's lips turned up in a wry smile: a simple choice indeed. Eternity lay, endless, behind and before. Yet as he placed the letter upon the final stack of completed papers, he felt the weight of the world lift a little off his shoulders. Twice confronted with the 'impossible' choice, he had made the same decision.

His gaze settled upon his handiwork, and as it did so it occurred to him that the papers were disarrayed. Reaching a hand to straighten them, he found the leaf before him written in a foreign tongue: Quenya. The language of the kinslayers had long been forbidden in Middle-earth, but as his hands moved to lift sheet after sheet he could find no words of Sindarin inscribed. A frown passed like a shadow across his brow. As he raised his eyes, he realised that the familiar grey stone of Imladris' walls was slowly fading to the shimmering white of chalk.

Elrond ran his fingers over the grain of his desk; the wood was newly crafted unlike the one he had worked at for the better part of two centuries yet another exact copy of the one he had designed to suit himself in Imladris. He turned in his chair to find the room strange to him. The windows opened eastwards to the mist-veiled oceans. The swell of music rose with every wave, humming along his veins as he focused upon it; yet absence lay where before there had been the persistent, suppressed desire to cross it. The chamber itself was wide and airy, beams of sunlight warming the interior to shades of gold and scattering across the white sheets of the bed. The armour he had not used since the Last Alliance stood in the alcove, beneath the banner of the Lindon shining with the twelve stars of its high king's shield. Upon the shelf above the dresser were his eclectic collection of bottles and bundles of raw herbs that filled the room with the distinctive scents of sage, vervain, and mint. The windows reached almost to the floor, a low balcony visible beyond the veiled drapes that ghosted inward with the sea breeze. Set against the sections of wall that separated the three windows were tall bookcases, the most prized of his extensive library in Imladris building a new wall within the first.

Curious, Elrond rose to his feet and, as he stepped into the first line of sunbeams, as soft knock preceded the opening of the chamber door. Celebrían left the door open as she entered. Cupped in her hand she bore a tiny vial that outshone the daylight, the pure white glow of Earendil's star trapped inside the crystal. She smiled at him and shook her head.

"It's late," she said softly, "You should be resting."

Elrond glanced away from the starlight to the day beyond the window, and then back to Celebrían, who had set down the crystal upon the bedside table and was seated upon the white sheets, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from them. She lifted her eyes as he frowned.

"Celebrían," Elrond said, "It's still light."

"The sun doesn't go down anymore."

From the doorway a second voice spoke and Elrond whirled to face it. Distantly he was conscious of his heart slamming up into his throat, of his eyes filling until he was blinded, but he was aware that he stood quite still, a smile upon his lips, unsurprised by the arrival. Gil-galad stepped into the room. He was garbed quite simply in cobalt breeches above dark leather boots, his tunic unadorned save the crest of his former kingdom emblazoned upon the front in gold thread. The only reminder of his status was the mithril circlet crowning his dark hair.

Elrond looked between his king and his wife.

"I don't understand."

Celebrían half-smiled, lifting her eyes to meet Gil-galad's. They glanced toward him, secret knowledge warming their eyes, and spoke in unison.

"You will."

The papers on his desk came into focus before him and Elrond blinked at the grey stone of Imladris' walls. Twisting around, he found his chamber unchanged from that one he had occupied for the last Age. As the dream vision faded, he wiped his eyes and smiled. The words echoed in his ears as he rose and moved to the window, to look westward across the Sundering Sea allowing himself to feel the ocean's pull.

_"I don't understand."_

_"You will."_


	2. Valinor

**On the Shores of Valinor by Maybe****

* * *

**

**Summary: In the land of Valinor, Elrond meets someone believed long lost to him. Nominated for the 2003 My Precious Awards, and a finalist in the 2004 Mithril Awards.  
**

**Disclaimer: The characters and world are the creation of Tolkien and belong to him. New Line Cinema also has rights to them, which I cannot claim. No copyright infringement or offence intended by the use of them. No profit made.**

**

* * *

**

**Part One: Valinor

* * *

**

The pearly crested waves arched up, swelling into a swan neck of silver-blue water that rose and soared gracefully inland to smoothly rinse the pebbles from the edges of the shoreline. The bronzed sand was soft and cool beneath Elrond's bare feet as he walked, leaving faint imprints where he had stepped. Behind him the tall grey cliffs stretched upwards into a sky hazy with a light mist. The spray of the sea dampened his cheeks and the slight breeze blowing from the east stirred his hair into waving tendrils. Valinor. The Undying Lands.

Upon Elrond's finger, the blue sapphire Vilya was a familiar weight now that its power was naught. It sat in place beside his wedding ring. He was barely conscious now of that light, golden band. It no longer symbolised the unity of two beings who are joined in free will to unite kingdoms and raise children. The kingdoms were since deserted and the children raised and grown. Arwen now resided in Gondor, wedded to the King, Aragorn, formerly Estel, whom Elrond had fostered as a child. Elladan and Elrohir had taken up lordships in Rivendell, while they lingered in Middle-earth culling the remainder of Sauron's forces from the land. Perhaps they would cross the sea when Celeborn left Lorien for the West. Perhaps not.

The marriage token had never symbolised true love - at least as the Eldar are known for it. When Elrond had wedded the child of Galadriel and Celeborn, daughter of the Golden Wood, in the year 109 of the Third Age, he had not believed that he could love again. His one true love, his king, Ereinion Gil-galad, the last High King of the Noldor had perished then barely a hundred years before, during the Last Alliance. Elrond, though familiar with Celebrían from his counsels in Lorien as Gil-galad's herald and acknowledged lover, held no desire to wed the lady. Fond though he was of Celebrían, Elrond had not been able to foresee a future for him that would be far from Gil-galad's side. Only the curse of his Peredhil blood had prevented him from slipping his soul upon the slopes of Mount Doom alongside his lover and king. Staggering under the weight of his heart-stopping grief, Elrond had blindly stood with Círdan as the strength of men failed and Isildur, son of Elendil, took the Ring of Power for his own instead of casting it back into the fires of Mordor. Duty had bound Elrond to the earth then - that and a profound sense of disgust at the idea of sullying his fighting blades with his own blood.

Though he had willingly taken Celebrían for his own when their kingdoms both needed to be shown to be united in the face of the ever-lingering evil of Sauron, Elrond had never believed that he could feel love for the woman he called his wife. Yet he had. And when Sauron's forces took her from him, Elrond knew grief once more and his agony was great.

Now however, upon the honeyed shores of the West, Elrond could not find in his heart the love that he had felt for Celebrían. And nor, more surprisingly, for she had never loved another before him, could she. Though their reunion had been delightful, their conversations many and deep as they covered swiftly all that had happened since last they were together, they had parted in the early hours of the morn following the first night of his arrival - for separate chambers. Celebrían had been saddened that not one of their children had chosen to come into the West and they had walked the shores for many long days thereafter, consoling one another and talking at great length. But it seemed that too much had changed and, as if with the loss of their children, the first cause to deeply unite them in love, they found that the old feelings had deserted them too.

It mattered not. They were among friends and would gladly keep each other's company, however disinclined they were now to share one another's beds. Not a one of their companions reproached them for it; even Galadriel smiled upon a friendship that had blossomed from the ashes of their former affection.

"Elrond!"

A hail from the sea signalled the arrival of Círdan and Elrond lifted a hand in salute as the shipwright guided a small fishing boat into the rocky cove several yards ahead. Glorfindel, Elrond's seneschal while he had resided in Rivendell, leapt from the bow of the ship to secure her mooring rope to a projection of rock. Teleri blood ran in Glorfindel's veins and with it the insatiable desire for the sea. He and Círdan regularly sailed for the simple pleasure of the activity. For Elrond, to walk beside the sea and listen to the soft music of Ainur that whispered in the waves was more than enough to sate his desire for the swirling waters of the sea god Ossë. Smiling in welcome, Elrond hurried to meet them. Glorfindel's face was flushed by the soft slap of the breeze and his eyes sparkled with the light of Anor as he greeted Elrond warmly. Círdan, too, greeted Elrond cheerfully, his long silver-grey hair tangling with his beard as a stronger gust of wind swept along the edges of the shore.

"Ciiiiiiirrrrrrdaaaaaannnn!" A yell from the cliff top startled the elf-lords, causing them to lift their heads. Silhouetted upon the high peak at the edges of the cliff length, two small, slender figures stood, dark against the skyline. One of them lifted a hand and waved violently.

"Valinor Ahoy!" Círdan called back, raising a hand to them. "I assume I have permission to land?"

"I assume I have permission to land, what?" There was an audible giggle, denoting the voice as female.

Círdan chuckled softly, rolling his eyes for Glorfindel's benefit. "I assume I have permission to land, Captain?" he suggested.

Another giggle answered his call, a touch of smugness in this one. "Permission to land granted."

Círdan opened his mouth, whether to reply with gratitude or sarcasm Elrond was never to discover, for the figures upon the cliff top wheeled at that moment, like banking gulls caught in a slip stream, and fled away, over the crest and out of sight.

Smiling, Elrond turned to the shipwright, amused by the childish antics. "Well, Círdan," he said. "You did not tell me that you were fostering once again."

Círdan glanced at him, his expression curiously guarded. "I trust that you will forgive me the slight, Elrond," he muttered, instantly busying himself with something under the thwart of the boat.

Rebuffed, Elrond stared in bemusement at the shipwright's back, exchanging a puzzled glance with Glorfindel. "Círdan?" he said curiously. "Forgive me, I did not mean to speak as though I were offended."

Círdan briefly glanced at him, his unease apparent. "Nay, nay, I did not think it so," he assured Elrond, forcing a smile that was too bright, too false.

"Then what...?" Elrond began, perplexed by the sudden change in his old friend's demeanour. But Círdan was speaking to Glorfindel, asking for ties to secure the boom and other such pieces of marine equipment that Elrond knew nothing of. With a shake of his head, Elrond laid the matter aside.

And there it might have remained, until it was lost amidst the mists of memories far more important, had it not been for a subsequent event that occurred but a month later. The storm that had been threatening for several weeks was raging passionately outside. Wind howled wretchedly around the vast sanctuary and sheets of rain lashed at the window drapes. Elrond was dining late with the other elf-lords and ladies of high station from Middle-earth, namely Glorfindel, Círdan and Galadriel. Celebrían too was present, along with Gandalf and Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, when the door opened a fraction to reveal a tousled blond head. A slight, golden-headed child inserted himself through the chink in the doors, lingering there with an attempt at a bored expression schooled onto his features. Círdan looked up sharply, putting his cutlery aside.

"I thought that I told you to go to your chambers," he said, his tone mild but distinctly reproving. "While you are not a mortal and do not need to sleep you should get some rest and you cannot do so while you are wandering around."

"And I would if I could," the young elf replied insolently. "But none of the others will do so. They are arguing about what monster the storm is. Someone said it was a Balrog and now they think it is Sauron trying to blow up the mountains."

Celebrían dropped her cutlery with a clatter and Círdan cast her an agitated look as she rose swiftly. "Stay," she said, as he too pushed back his chair. "I will go to them at once. My lords, my lady, please excuse me."

She hurried from the room. Círdan watched her go, his ancient face lined with anxiety.

"Oh dear," Gandalf chuckled, trying to lighten the suddenly tense atmosphere. "Imaginative youngsters you are in charge of, Círdan."

Círdan stiffened, casting Gandalf a frown. "Yes, quite," he said, rather abruptly. "The storm is upsetting them that is all. I expect that they are frightened their boats will be damaged."

"I thought that you helped them bring their ships into the boat houses earlier?" Elrond remarked, glancing at Círdan.

The shipwright nodded. "I did. But with the wind a wail like so, it fires, as Gandalf said, the imagination."

Elrond smiled fondly, thinking with no small measure of sadness about his children once more.

Glorfindel however, was eyeing Círdan with curiosity."Less than a year we have been upon this shore, that I grant," he observed quietly. "Yet never once have you mentioned that you were fostering again, Círdan. I did not realise that any children of this house were your own."

Círdan tensed again and Elrond, pausing with his wine glass lifted, caught the tail end of the shipwright's unsettled look in his direction. Gandalf too looked up.

"Do you mean to say that you have not told them, Círdan?" he asked, his tone distinctly disapproving.

"And what, Gandalf, was I supposed to tell?" Cirdan's pale blue gaze was steely as he held the wizard's eye, his own communicating a caution to be silent that was not lost upon those at the table. "That I have once more taken children beneath my wing? Is that so strange? Yes, Glorfindel, I am surprised indeed that you did not know. I have three youngsters currently in my care."

"Did you know of this?" Glorfindel asked of Elrond.

The half-elf nodded. "Celebrían revealed to me that she is co-guardian of a trio of children when I first arrived. She did not want me to be unaware of the fact and was most anxious to reassure me that they were not a replacement for our own protégée." Elrond smiled a little. "Forgive me, my old friend, it was remiss of me not to tell you, but without making the acquaintance of these beings I did not think to broach the subject for the sake of mere curiosity. I was unaware that Círdan was the second of the guardians, however."

Círdan was watching their exchange warily, though he offered a weak smile and a shake of the head when Elrond raised an eyebrow at him.

"Why have you not introduced them, Círdan?" Once again it was Gandalf who spoke, his tone bordering on accusatory and his stare challenging Cirdan's.

The old elf laid aside his cutlery and sighed, spreading his hands upon the table.

"Forgive me," he appealed to both Glorfindel and Elrond. "I did not wish to bring children into your lives again so soon - when your offspring, Elrond, are so recently departed from you. It was for the same reason, Glorfindel, that I did not think to tell you. I know that you were very close to the family."

Elrond chuckled, honestly amused.

"Oh Círdan, you concern yourself too much. Do you believe me so low in spirit that I cannot take pleasure in another's children? Truly, I do not begrudge others their offspring now that mine have all chosen to fly the nest in one fell swoop. It would give me pleasure to see children about the place, so you need not fear for me."

"Nor I," Glorfindel added.

Círdan smiled. "My heart is greatly eased to hear that," he said, seeming genuinely relieved. "Well, well, good. I shall introduce you to them on the morrow."

And so too it might have ended. Yet it did not. For with each new dawn the rising of Anor seemed to bring with him some new excuse as to the absence of the children from Elrond's sight. So much was this so, that he would have begun to think the youngsters mythical had not he caught occasional sight of them either upon the shore or heard their clumsy, childish footsteps carelessly loud upon the stairs when they were supposed to be in their chambers at night. It became almost a source of amusement to both Elrond and Glorfindel that these children could be both seen and heard and yet managed to be apparently non-existent in the household. Gandalf however, seemed to find it less amusing and once by chance, when taking a walk, Elrond heard his name spoken. Then came Gandalf's voice, gruffly raised, saying, "You will have to tell him at some time, Círdan!"

It was then that Elrond made up his mind to confront the shipwright once more, convinced that Círdan was concealing somewhat from him, particularly as Celebrían too had of late grown cagey when mention of the children was made. All that had so far restrained Elrond was the nagging suspicion that Círdan would not hide something from ones he had named as his friends for many years without very, very good cause. As it turned out, however, Elrond did not need to enquire. All was revealed in the most chance manner possible...


End file.
